


On the Other (By Which I Mean 'Dead') Side

by gladdecease



Category: Psych, Pushing Daisies
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: comment_fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladdecease/pseuds/gladdecease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things about Woody the coroner that people don't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Other (By Which I Mean 'Dead') Side

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/83294.html?thread=19148382#t19148382) in response to [egalitarianmuse](http://egalitarianmuse.livejournal.com)'s prompt: Psych/Pushing Daisies, author's choice, Someone at the Santa Barbara PD finds themselves with a power that could be very good or very bad.

Make no mistake, Woody is the best coroner in the state. Those guys over in Santa Ana may say things, but Woody _chose_ to switch municipalities. The SAPD was getting boring, and he wanted more of a challenge. He'd heard things about Santa Barbara, about a consultant they'd had for a few years, and thought he'd take a look. If the guy wasn't what Woody was looking for, he'd just move on again.

What he found was miles above his expectations. He watched, impressed, as Shawn Spencer talked his way to conclusions that initially sounded insane, claiming psychic visions as his guide. It sounded ridiculous, but he was hardly ever wrong.

And _that_ was impressive.

Now, the reason Woody knew whether Shawn was right or wrong long before the rest of the police department, while also the reason why he knew Shawn wasn't actually a psychic, didn't have anything to do with something as ridiculous as being psychic himself. He just had a good old-fashioned mysterious talent to his name.

Looking over the latest body on his cart, Woody carefully made sure to lock the door behind him. Wouldn't want anybody to see this.

Carefully, he took off his glove and touched a hand to the body. With a start and a scream, one PJ Johnson sat up, looking around wildly. "What - where - ?"

"Calm down, Mr. Johnson," Woody said, moving his hands in small circles in the air. "Breathe. I'm told it helps people adjust."

"Adjust? To what?" PJ looked around and quickly realized the morbidity of his situation. Between his nakedness, the morgue bed he was sitting on, and the rather large entry wound on his chest, it wasn't hard to figure out. "Oh my god," he said. "I'm dead."

"That you are!" Woody agreed. "But don't worry, I'm here to help. I just need to ask you a few questions..." He picked up a clipboard, scribbling in a corner to check if his pen worked. For once he'd gotten a good one, but it seemed PJ had a question or two of his own to ask first. He waited patiently.

"I just - is this Heaven?"

Woody snorted. "Does it look like it?"

"Is it - ?"

"Nope! Call it a middle ground, if you want. An in-between, maybe." Woody hummed contemplatively, trying to find an apt word. "A pit stop, for people like you."

"People like me?"

"Murder victims," Woody explained cheerfully. "Speaking of, how did that come about?"

PJ stared his chest, poking at the hole with a finger.

"I suggest you don't do that," Woody said, and the dead man pulled his hand away like the wound was on fire. And, huh, that was an interesting thought. Can dead people still feel pain? Some of Woody's interest may have appeared on his face, as PJ frowned, looking rather upset. Though, to be fair, trying to remember the circumstances of your death can't be an easy thing to do. "I don't... wait. I think I remember - oh god, it was Greg!"

"Greg?" Woody wrote the name down, then looked up expectantly.

"Greg Appleton," PJ continued. "A friend of mine, from work. I'd found some files, it looked like he was stealing money from the company. I told him I was going to tell our boss, and he - "

"Yes, yes," Woody said absently. "He killed you for it, obviously."

"Yeah." PJ looked down at his chest wound, then up at the good coroner. "What happens now?"

"Beats me!" Woody poked him in the forehead, and watched him collapse with a thump on the cart. He carefully rearranged the corpse's limbs, covered him up, and unlocked the door. Almost immediately, the two detectives Shawn worked with most often came through the doors, Shawn and his friend Gus hot on their heels.

"Hey, Woody!" Shawn said.

Woody grinned. "Shawn." He wondered if Shawn would be able to figure it out right off the bat this time, or if it would take some investigating for him to turn up the right answer.

No, Santa Barbara wasn't likely to get boring any time soon.


End file.
